Cotton-strand clouds stretched sparsely across a sapphire sky, cast along by an eastward wind. The heavens met sea to the west in a dance of blue that teased the eye to find a point of distinction. A shadow from on high rode the rolling waves below, one such pair of eyes gazing pensive into the beyond, lost as the sky lost itself to the steely azure of the horizon. The end of a life all too easily inspires a reverie.
Long dark ringlets of thick and lustrous hair billowed back from the face and around the shoulders of a tall, thin woman, the pointed tips of her blouse's high collar flapping gently. Her airship soared far above Chasity Bay on a trip south to the palace of the Ariasholm Empire.
The sharp featured woman posed stiffly on a carved, fixed wooden throne, legs crossed and both elbows on arm rests, a hand on her chin as she peered out from beneath a wire-framed cloth canopy. Though her perch was cushioned and luxurious, she showed no comfort, rigid with only a shrewd squint to betray apparent impassivity. The humid air carried a cool breeze as it streamed around the sky vessel. If the chill touched her, though surely subdued by the short coat she wore loose and open, she showed no sign.
For all the impish currents did to disturb hair and unsettle clothing, not a bit inspired ire or zeal behind that narrow-eyed countenance. One crossed leg bounced atop the other, the toe of an outlandishly fancy boot tapping against the bow railing. Intricately patterned and finely cut panels of leather wove together with filigree stitching that bordered smooth and flowing bands of mythril, silky ribbons that glittered in the sunlight and dimmed the polished handrail's shine.
Each tap of her toe rang in time with the gentle pulsing hum of the two Gaiastone engines set on either side of the long tail of her ship. Three flat rings inscribed with glowing runes were suspended free and at equal lengths around and down the tail, each slightly smaller than the last, and a matching pair of rods and rings extended from beneath either wing. These two angled in every direction in response to the pilot's commands from his perch behind the lady and atop the roof of her small cabin below deck, cramped yet lavish quarters she could access from behind her throne.
A city rose below to reach its towering tops toward her as the ship sailed high above the many boats that dotted the bay. A few of a particular country's design drew the severe woman's attention. Under a cocked eyebrow she held in gaze the curious number of vessels until they disappeared behind crescent wings that curved from the first quarter of the ship and stretched halfway down the tail, cutting through the air with a hiss.
"Meleagris in the Eldris?" she wondered aloud, "Why are so many of those naves at the capitol of the Empire?"
Voice carried away in the wind, she let her gaze wander up the busy port and into the ostentatious city beyond. She sneered to behold innumerable towering structures dominating the land, each several hundred feet tall and more. A crowded system of platforms formed by complex steel framework created tiers of roadways above the ground, with streets, walkways, and connections between buildings so dense and upper level common spaces so wide that in most areas within the city the ground beneath was shaded completely, day or night. Roads from the bay teemed with traffic passing to and from the shaded slums, the streets dark with filth visible even on high, perhaps more so, but for each level higher the streets were cleaner and the traffic lighter, until the refuse disappeared altogether and all the paths were clear for leisure. At each ramp-way to a higher level beyond the lower levels were manned gatehouses, some visible even from her vantage, and no roads reached the highest levels.
A stench from the port area wafted high enough to assail her, and so she tapped a pearlescent gem set on the side of her armrest to activate a shimmering shield of magic that sealed her from the elements and that awful smell. Nose upturned in disgust, she peered back out to the open ocean. More than just the odor irked her: it was abhorrent to consider those teeming creatures and their grandiose products of pretension, those hunks of hubris built with no respect for the Sin that drove those petty things to construct their gilded brick from dirt quite literally atop the wretches that labored to build them in the first place. The true nature of a grand city's pride lay abyssal bound, venerated by the wretched few.
"We'll be landing at the imperial palace within five minutes, Lady Tarpeia," the pilot announced, his voice echoing easily within the iridescent field that surrounded. Tarpeia's full lips curled into a cruel smile as she turned to the helmsman, his station a podium-console of gleaming brass levers and knobs set with ivory handles.
"Surely my own two eyes could not have reckoned so without your DUTIFUL report," she purred menacingly with a pose that hinted either pleasure or peril, a shoulder sway that almost distracted from teeth barred in a sinister smile.
"I beg you pardon, Lady, it is only my will to adequately perform my duties to best serve-"
"Be silent, please," she cut in, the man locked in a chilling glare that dared him to match with or break professional composure for even a moment. The words were a dagger to his throat, the veins of which throbbed around strained tendons bulged with fear beneath a face set slack. Fearful as he surely was, her disciplined and experienced pilot held through the eternity he felt her viper glare.
She released him with a bored sigh and watched as the northernmost part of the palace became near as they rose to meet it. Set high on the seaside cliffs that rose sharply from the bay and stretched far beyond, a wedge construction of dark stone bricks rose approximately two hundred fifty feet on a talus that sloped down from all sides and formed the foundation of two towers. Four other identical wings spread equidistant in a circle around a central keep and main body of the palace.
That first pentagonal tower of each wing rose sixty feet from the innermost point of the wedge, topped with battlements. Tarpeia let her attention wander over the courtyard between it and the larger hexagonal tower of the outer ring of towers. From the wedge beneath sloped gentle batters arched too delicately for support, and so gave the illusion of elegance to the conquered stone. Rings of decorative columns in a blind arcade rose from lips of masonry up the length of the tower, statues and reliefs of ancient heroes from treasured folklore rendered on every other level near to the top, nearly seven hundred feet up.
As they neared, hundreds of seabirds freed themselves from nooks among the murals and under corbel brace points for the balconies that surrounded the solar of the tower's top, a pointed slate roof above which that matched the height of the tower of the main palace keep.
The airship veered west past that northern wing, the whole thing shuttered and dark, overgrown with creeping vines that conquered the courtyard assailed the the tower along its length, all so very unkempt to view. Even along the outer wall that connected the wings and protected the keep did the vegetation reach, right to the drum tower in the center of the wall, topped as the other wall towers with covered bays meant for aircraft. The wing, the wall segment, mural passage from the keep, blocked from entry, from the castle wall allure, even the wall and cloister from the keep to the wing, all APPEARED closed to the world.
Tarpeia scoffed and rolled her eyes. The illusion of deprecation on so pristine a structure was ridiculous, but not without purpose...
The vessel dipped to port and the polished and the gleaming figured head of the bow, a masterwork capture in ivory of a winged woman in ecstasy, reaching for an unseen lover, aimed longingly toward the landing platform south of the northwestern wing. The pilot eased them into a careful descent and pulled a floor-mounted lever to his left to release the four mechanical feet and legs stored in the ship's hull, flexing and scaled metal appendages reminiscent of a bird's.
Twenty covered bays circled circled the tower, each a garage for prominent persons employed in the northeastern tower, the seat of politics and legislation. Tarpeia sneered to notice a mingling bunch of familiar figures draped in blood red stoles over charcoal robes cinched with matching sashes. Even before she glided gracefully down and the eager group disappeared behind the raising roof of her garage she knew her colleagues awaited her in specific. Irritation flooded her restless body as her ship passed through an ornate archway. The magically animated legs touched stone beneath and easily sauntered into a gallop that slowed to a prance and finally stopped in a bowed crouch.
The pilot hastily engaged parking measures and cycled down the pulsing engines until the luminescence softened too faint to notice, the hum of their magic in the air and in the bones only noticeable by touch. He scrambled down the built in ladder on the starboard side and jogged to retrieve a rolling staircase for Tarpeia. He did well to avoid her lioness leering while he stood in salute as she descended and passed.
Without a word she moved on, the ship and operator out of her mind, the poor man slouching at last with a stifled sigh as she neared the exit. Her worry was then those bumbling fools waiting beyond. The lady contorted her face a moment as she blinked and stretched her features, working her jaw. She adopted the sweetest smile she could muster, willfully softened her eyes, released the tension in her face. Hers was a performance meant to shape the grandest of stages, and it was time to play a part.
"Lady Tarpeia!" shouted a rotund and soft man with a bald head and beady eyes behind gold rimmed glasses, "How splendid to have you returned once more to us, the Jewel of Congress!"
"Master Guttler, you flatter me," she answered with a graceful nod and pleased look. She made no move to stop, however, and simply glanced over the rest politely as she continued around the group.
"My Lady! So good to see you!" interjected a thin and gangly man who jostled through his companions, notably Guttler, to join her stride, the lithe woman at a brisk pace, "How long will you remain home from your duties?"
"Indefinitely, Master Snyflan," she answered to delighted coos, annoyance blossomed in her heart but dead to her face, "my task in Ragnaheim is complete and so shall I be returning to my post as Grand Arbiter to relieve some of the burden once more from the shoulders of our blessed Celestian emperor."
"Ah, what joy!" piped the hoggish man, "You must be thrilled to no longer need suffer those barbarians and their backward ways!"
The lemming herd behind her bobbed heads in agreement and echoed his sentiments, each pushing closer to the lady without crowding in too obvious desperation.
"Troublesome it must have been to manage relations with their leaders. How ever did you endure the trials of..." the thin weasel made an exaggerated pause in which the waiting party piqued, a clever sneer poorly hidden behind feigned curiosity, "why, come to think of it, I'm sure I have no idea just WHAT exactly your duties in Ragnaheim were, exactly."
The group, still on her heels, passed from the drum tower to the alure of the outer wall on the way to the northeastern tower, a solid fortification the top of which stood level with the wedge foundations of each wing. From that vantage she could see the cloistered two-tier passage that spanned between each wing and the keep, windowed halls supported by an arcade of arches and covered with a roof bordered with gargoyles and gutters. A few steps along the way she paused and sighed in a way meant to resemble the release of mental burden. She tilted her head, adopted her best air of appreciation, and patted Snyflan once on the arm with an affectionate squeeze.
"It was so very trying, yes, good sir, but we of the Ariasholm elite, the greatest governing body of this marvelous empire, are too aptly poised to uplift the less... enlightened. I daresay, it wasn't until just now that I realized I am at last home, the ordeal is at last behind me. Thank you, friends, truly."
She gave pleasant laugh of relief for added affect and the pompous pack behind a red faced rat joined with chortles and affirmations, almost to distracted with the moment to notice Tarpeia already gliding away with brisk but easy steps.
"Yes, yes, too true you've earned your respite!" huffed Guttler, sweat beading on his jiggling face as he tried to keep with her, a fat finger pressing his spectacles up the bridge of his nose, "And certainly we can relate, to a lesser degree, of course! So many self-involved ignoramuses to mind each day in council, an endless parade of petty people with petty issues!"
"Like the street scum crying about wages and starvation!" added Snyflan, again elbowing through his peers, "As if we have any use for the vermin in the first place!"
"Always good fodder for war!" piped some unseen fool behind him, Tarpeia unconcerned with whom.
"War, ha!" laughed the thin man, "I daresay wars are a thing of the past in this part of Venavia. No, they just keep multiplying down there, filthy and uneducated! The Low Town slums need a good plague, I say!"
"Nay, seal the streets a set hungry beasts to prowl! What sport that'd be, just to watch them run!"
The group of garish goons prattled on enthusiastically about the putrid poor with degrading and demeaning statements that served to expand the chests and straighten the statures of the inflating egos with each deprecating, self-important breath. So taken did they become with their increasingly wretched witticisms that they barely offered Tarpeia so much as a farewell, the ringleaders giving hurried and competing pleasantries.
"Do call upon me if there is ANY task at all I could offer my aid in, dear lady!" insisted Guttler with a lecherous grin, chuckling still over his own joke, an immodest proposal on the potential of the destitute as cattle, were people's tastes only a touch less discerning.
"And of course you can count on my insight with any troubling matter, Tarpeia," added Snyflan with a flourishing bow.
They parted ways as they entered the larger of the two towers of the wing, the rabble in a rush for their personal offices with talks of drafting new and harsh legislation meant to punish the impoverished for daring to pollute the precious streets of Eldris, a competition of cruelty amongst them. Tarpeia, relieved with their absence but wary of other impeding distractions, slipped quietly across the grand hall, decorated with fountains, statues, tapestries, and paintings all celebrating some individual labor or victory in one form or another, to a wall marked by several recesses. Caged shafts of gilded iron worked to resemble flowery vines rose up through the ceiling and dropped unseen to the levels below.
With her approach the glimmering gates parted on their own; a circular platform filled the full diameter of the passage and glowing lines in complex braids pulsed with blue light as they circled the surface, and matching line-work spiraled up the walls and lattice beyond. She entered, the gates shut smoothly, silently, behind her, and she produced from her inner jacket pocket a smooth, flat, rune-carved Gaiastone. It pulsed in tune with the lights of the shaft and platform as she held it aloft.
"To my chambers, arise," she commanded the with the keystone. The mounted disc flared with a deeper and more radiant hue as it began to levitate freely in the air, ascending. The lighted braids writhed as she observed each passing level, hallways and congregation spaces for a variety of purposes until she reached the tower's top.
She exited into a lavish foyer, wedged and narrow at her end with three doors ahead, the two outer set in walls angled in from the first. Both of those were ajar, revealing to Tarpeia the offensively dingy supply and work rooms of her servant staff. Even the tapestries specifically meant to conceal the rooms were drawn back and tied! A sinister delight shined in her eyes and gleamed brighter when her path through the entryway caught the eye of a surprised young maid. Surprise transformed to horror with recognition, and a bare toothed grin blossomed on Tarpeia's lips!
"Oh I beg your pardon please, my lady!" cried the serving woman, scrambling to the door, "You're returned at last, great mistress, you were gone so long we - !"
Tarpeia cut off her as she swiped both arms forward and clawed them back again, hands shimmering with a smoky light. So slammed the open doors in time with the gesture, confused shouts rising from either room.
"The doors remain SHUT!" she called cooly on her way through the central passage, keystone in hand again, "Perhaps they should remain shut a while, a fine lesson I believe."
She breathed a soft chuckle as repentant cries muffled by iron bound oak murmured so pleasing a tune, but the door shut and all sounds ceased to an impossible quiet that matched perfectly the stillness of the gallery corridor that lead to her apartments. On either side of the walkway laid with a runner rug, above waist high marble paneling reliefs of battles and historical moments, hanged framed portraits and paintings, no few of which depicted the same woman who casually strolled among them. Each were offered only a cursory glance until she passed through the far door into her personal study.
To the right a three sided desk sat in front of wrought-iron framed floor-to-ceiling windows that surrounded a similarly built pair of doors to a balcony that wrapped around the tower top. Decorative screens and heavy cushioned furniture intermixed with nude sculptures and pedestal busts populated the space, a pair of straight back chairs with well worn seats set in front of the desk. She smirked to considered all whom squirmed upon those seats in the face of her ire.
The lady deposited the keystone and several items atop the desk for a later time and turned to the same wall she entered through and took a door to the left of the corridor. Within was her private shrine, and a deep gloom surrounded her as the door shut. Eyes adjusted quickly to the violet light that seemed to spill as a mist from the pair of pedestals built into the wall ahead. The same misty glow seemed to roil a fog up from rings of runes on the floor before either. As she entered the leftmost ring an inflated sense of self-worth flooded Tarpeia, a certainty of her own ideals and abilities beyond even the caution of logic, and a reverence for the perfection upon the pedestal captured in such painstakingly realistic detail that she was never certain the carved ebony would not speak some day.
She stared longingly into the face of her true icon, the serpentine and perfectly angular face and thick mane of her Sovereign of Pride, Lamia. A hint of fang bit playfully into the lower lip of the idol, so alluring. She traced the features while fingering her own, certain her own unique beauty was as sinfully divine. Stepping back she admired herself and the idol a moment more then lowered to her knees, sat back on her heels, and laid forward with arms outstretched.
"Bold in my conviction, brazen in my deeds, boundless in my allure, I acknowledge you, my treasured sin. Lamia, hear my adulation and fill me with your zeal."
Rising, she kissed the lips of that fierce facade and moved reluctantly outside of its circle of influence. The second pedestal stood beyond a ring of runes that were rosy rather than violet in hue, though the difference was nearly imperceptible in the shared space. Upon it balanced the full figure of a masculine creature, presumably tall from the stretched shape of its body and limbs and the upturned look. Sculpted from gold, a pristine shape of sinew and muscle stood shrouded in long waves of hair that fell over its shoulders and back and spilled onto its chest. The face of a beautiful man was belied only by fangs inside an open mouth, worked to appear ajar in mid-speech. The body was bare save for cracks and callouses that roughed its hands, wrists, feet, ankles, and empty groin, hidden all along the hairline and behind elongated and sharply pointed ears.
Within its circle the great depths of her own cunning and more could be realized, her mastery of the deceptive arts felt keenly in contrast to the inferior efforts in others. With such assurance in heart there could be no opponent she would fail to outmaneuver. The lady supplicated as before and offered a second litany.
"Hidden are my means and motives, wicked my falsehoods, deeply devious in every breath, I acknowledge you, my treasured sin. Gadrielle, know my hidden truths and blur the lines between my lies."
Again she rose and kissed the feet of the Sovereign of Treachery, basking moments longer on its radiance before moving to the center of the room. She offered a curtsy to both and exited the shrine, a dark sense of renewal in her heart as she crossed her study. Through a third door on the opposite wall she passed the landing of a stairway down to the guest quarters, dining room, kitchen, privy, and storage, offering the way down not so much as a glance, unconcerned with the vacant rooms below.
Over the threshold of her expansive bedchambers she crossed and into a wall of cold that filled the dark space. She rounded left and through another doorway into a full room sized closet, passed walls of clothing, footwear, and various aesthetic affectations to enter a bathing room beyond of most ostentatious design, jacket, blouse, pants, boots, and under garments discarded in stride.
Center sat a wide and deep pool walled with glittering tiles that began to fill with simmering water the moment she entered, pouring from founts the likeness of nymphs pouring wine jugs. Stained glass on the whole breadth of wall to her right showed in extreme detail a scene of limbs and leaves populated with over a dozen bird species. Lavender flames lit in braziers around the tub, soft glittering on polished and bejeweled tile.
Disrobed she dipped a foot into the bubbling water with a smile, the skin blossoming an angry welted red in the liquid. Her other foot followed and she waded in to her knees, burns spreading as spiderwebs of oily black began to grow within each, seeping from pores to coat her scalded flesh as she reclined in the boiling bath. Skin cracked and swelled under a mask of oily ooze and she sighed in comfort, surrendered to the heat as the room fogged with steam too thick see more than the shadow of her hand in the eerie light cast through the haze by colored glass.
*******
"Clean at long last," a wretched creature hoarsely croaked as it emerged from a billow of hot vapor, a mess of wilted flesh withered around bulging masses writhing black that spread to coat the thing completely. Down arms and legs it crept to seal the body in a solid smoothing sheen that faded, colored, and at last became again the stunning Lady Tarpeia, renewed and refreshed as though she we taking her first breaths of life.
A gentle wave of her hand swung open the windows and shut the bathing room and kept the remaining damp air from spreading to her wardrobe. A wide to narrow swirl of her fingers coalesced the steam still around her into orbs of water that found their homes in potted plants near the curtained closet window. She dressed modestly, by her estimation, in a form fitting black gown, matching stockings, and her mythril boots.
The prim-poised noblewoman, hair brushed and pinned with a plain black clip, entered the semicircular bedchambers. A full wall of window covered two thirds of the curve, all heavily shrouded in black curtain trimmed and tasseled in gold. A large imposing bed stood upon a dias, nestled between two of the many columns that lined the wall and rounded the chamber, mattress and adornments concealed by more curtains. The room remain laden with darkness; even where light streamed from the open door it was strangled by the encroaching shadows that shuddered around her. The door closed with a glistening stroke of her hand and shut the room from that desperate stream of natural luminance.
In the fresh gloom a sinister brilliance of emerald drew her gaze to a stand of stone in the center of the curved wall; set on its angled surface was a sigil that matched a second in the center of a geometric pattern on a circle of obsidian upon the floor. Sigil and pattern both emitted that slow pulsing glow that grew from a pale glitter to an imposing flare and back again.
"It's a bit early, but..." Tarpeia mused wistfully as she stood just on the edge of that coal black disc. She reached for and donned a cloak that was hanging to the side, the inverted and encircled seven point star of the Sovereign on its back, and stepped merrily into the magic ward. She settled herself, her mind, and closed her eyes, hands pressed together and head bowed, a deep breath pulled in to precede an invocation, secret and unique to her chamber's device.
"Soft rumble, a curse. Prelude of the distant storm. Sweet catastrophe."
Lime colored static danced all around her as she rose into the air. Waving black tendrils sprouted from around the disk and wove a cocoon that encased Tarpeia, green light flared to blinding intensity. The ethereal vessel shuddered and a cacophony of chaos roared all around. The bubble partially melted and Tarpeia found that she was, not for the first or last time, in a hellscape of screaming souls, a black cavern filled with green flames. Monstrous creatures of every imaginable sort crawled across and within ever shifting surfaces to tear at the once humanoid shapes of the damned, their astral forms twisting and changing to best offend themselves and the others. Acid blood and tears accompanied their wounds and wails, increased them.
A quake of thrilling terror rocked Tarpeia as she made for the exit, an archway floating in empty air and filled with the the same searing flames. By her will the inky black vessel glided onward, assailed along the way by demons large and small with claws and teeth and wings and tails all snapping and striking to reach her mortal coil and the deliciously wicked soul within. She could see the viscous saliva hissing caustic from between nasty fangs and grinned at the futility of their struggle. But they grinned back, in unison, and melted away.
The landscape did melt as well then, walls seized upon themselves and restructured into a protrusion that rose up from the horrid mire, an amorphous shape that twisted and changed and became a humanoid upper body, massive beyond measure. Pitch black stone flesh bore countless jagged symbols that burned with same surrounding hellfire, and from each fell steady streams of spectral bodies, searing sinners imprisoned evermore. Bone wings spread like claws in menace from behind and a face filled with long pointed teeth in a lipless mouth cackled a malevolently merry boom that shook Tarpeia within her shield. Lidless black eyes flashed over the flat hollow of a nose, reptile claws flexed and curled eager to snatch her from the path.
"Soon, Lord Rothacal," she promised with a bow before the vehicle, walls growing solid once again, passed at last through the archway. Brilliant jade flared and vanished with the cocoon and she landed softly on a disc in an alcove identical to the one in her chambers, but no longer was she in her bed place. Gone were her comforts and affects, and in their place a dimly lit hexagonal chamber seventy feet across with high vaulting ceilings in shadow, all dark polished stone. Between a ring of pillars that surrounded a shallow pit in the floor she spied across the room a second alcove identical to the one she exited where stood stand and disc.
Tarpeia strolled lazily to the pit, bemused she glanced left toward the north end of the cavernous room. An arrow shaped table with flat tips, set with several chairs and a throne at the northern point, stood against a half-wall under a recessed platform lit with torch fire, the strange radiance of spell-casting flashing from beyond the stone railings. She stepped down into the pit, a center of power she so deeply longed to feel those years away.
Twelve columns surrounded her, and from each across the floor in an angled split ran two gold inlaid lines that met a central circle around a hexagon that contained a six pointed star formed from a pair of triangles. At each of the six points within the ornate ring around the hexagon were set onyx plates that matched the central space of the feature.
As she crossed the pit a static sensation crept through her body and built with increasing intensity, a thrumming pulse that crushed in from all sides. The feeling faded gradually and altogether when she passed through and out beyond the columns and toward the table and beyond to rise along the westernmost of two sets of stairs into the alcove.
There, in a study filled with an array of projected images magically manifested, stood a tall and bone thin man, a Celestial elf with long white hair, perfectly straight, and sharply pointed ears. He gestured about with a quill in one hand and made hasty notes into the heavy book he held easily aloft in the other. Scenes of settled areas both civil and barbarous flashed alongside roadways, natural passes, and empty wildness that all shimmered in and out of view around the deeply absorbed man. Tarpeia dropped into a deep curtsy, a gentle genuine blush above an adoring smile.
"My beloved Emperor Eden," she said with rapt breath, "It is my most wondrous joy to be returned to you at last."
"Tarpeia, yes..." he murmured, distracted, "the time has come. The final phase of the great masters' grand scheme is nigh. You've done well in your duties. Welcome back. Now be silent."
Nothing more was said, and the lady obediently hushed as she settled, unbothered by the curt words, on a cushioned bench to watch his work. Enamored, she looked on with a dreamy smile to see him juggle so many tasks and manage so many different flows of information at once, his command and intellect a thrill to her. She pressed hand to cheek in comfortable lounging as she watched for for some time, perhaps near an hour for all she cared to reckon.
*******
Her reverie was broken when, back within the greater chamber, a portal flared with tall flames that died to reveal an inky cocoon that melted into mist and produced a sharp eyed young man with light skin and short brown hair in a high and fashionable cut. Around his simple dark trousers and plain black shirt hung a cloak to match her own, under the sleeves of which he carried a ledger and rolled parchments. An astucious glance around the room settled his attention on her a brief moment with the slightest widening of his eyes before he strolled thoughtfully toward the table below. Tarpeia offered on last adoring glance at her emperor and climb down to join the new arrival.
"Chemosh, hello once again," she called with a sneering smirk, retrieving wine and a glass from cabinets set along the half-wall, "Up to any nasty work these days worth note?"
She poured her cup and dropped gracefully into the seat across him at the narrow end of the table, both nearest the throne, and drew an enjoyable sip of the dark liquid. Chemosh, a separate smaller log book opened beside the ledger to a marked place, scraps and small diagrams scattered around both, nodded to her with an affected smile.
"Tarpeia," he greeted passionlessly, "Yes, I have in fact been involved in some promising research with the purchases from Meleagris. It would seem our investments of money and manpower we fruitful beyond expectations. The vast power contained within each of the stones is simply astounding."
"'Astounding?'" she mimicked with a honest laugh, "It must be indeed for you to say so. Excellent news, I honestly had little faith in the project when I left four years ago. Slaying dragons is no easy task for any force of the three worlds."
A thoughtful look crossed her face for a moment.
"They can't have been so successful for there to be so many of their ships in our harbor, they'd need kill every dragon on Venavia, Opalius, and Deorcine (if any remain on that dead rock) to fill those hulls and no group in any of the three or all combined would dare challenge just the almighty elders among them."
"Oh, though not so successful as that, they were quite successful indeed, so much so that they overreached and gained the attention and disfavor of all dragonkin. Meleagris, for their indiscreet methods and unchecked greed, is no more. Their fields and homes are ash, their land rent and glassed in the heat of draconic rage."
"Oh, dear me," was the lady's sardonic response, hand upon her chest and head tilted in mock distress, a pose held only moments before she rolled her eyes and enjoyed another sip, "what a DELIGHTFULLY wretched turn of events. I do hope we at least got our full worth for the trouble."
"Enough for years to come, unless a breakthrough comes sooner than expected. So far the intricacies have proven pleasingly complex. It is my greatest challenge to date, no small claim."
A flare lit the chamber, light dancing wildly in the eastern abyssal gateway, and second man appeared, a short haired Celestian. In a nondescript manner he made careful inspection of the room as he moved to join them, but Tarpeia could see well that beneath was a rigidity shaped by a life dedicated to subterfuge and sabotage.
"Baliarth, so long it's been since I've seen you crawl from the shadows," she purred, lashes batting, "Why send so many timid rats to bore me instead of visiting me yourself. Ragnaheim was such a bore."
"Yours was a duty I could not jeopardize by indulging your..." he paused and search his words a moment, cheek twitching nearly to a smile, or grimace, "INTERESTS. But it is good you've returned, the imperial council has missed its jewel. Please, while we wait, reveal the details of your ordeal."
The haughty elf retrieved his own glass and took the seat next to her, lounging to mirror her.
"Oh, it was so DULL," she grumbled with a sidelong distant glance, "no intrigue, no infighting or agendas. Once I seduced that soft-hearted fool I stood exactly as I needed to pull all necessary strings. They're all so nauseatingly trusting and trustworthy of their own, I really had no fun at all. I convinced him to build the two missing villages for our sacrificial sigil with no effort. One I suggested would make an excellent trading point and the other..."
She smiled coyly, if not cruelly.
"Oh do tell, woman!" growled Baliarth.
"There was a hot spring that fed into a lake near the southeastern site... some private exploration on a trip of whimsy, a little sensual play... he couldn't wait to aggrandize the place to honor the memory of our time there."
"So you really had no trouble prying into all their secrets?" he questioned aghast, "I would have believed... no matter, the knowledge you acquired has been invaluable to our efforts. Our people will be ready to infiltrate when the deed is done. Even now they serve and await our command from within the Order of Aine, which stands ready to obey you once again."
The emerald ambiance filled the room once more and a second time to the right as the first light faded. Chemosh, who allowed the conversation to leave him behind as he focused instead on his work, scribbled furiously in his in his notes and so engaged failed to notice the new arrivals until they reached the table. It caused him the most mild of starts, as great a reaction as Tarpeia had ever seen from the studious man.
"Ah," he spoke with some muted form of enthusiasm as he addressed a bald and unremarkable fellow, "our faithful acolyte has come from the wastes for an enviable honor. Master Teovan, if we may, I'd like to share some ideas and take notes on your physical and psychology state before... well, just sit, will you? Theres much we can learn from each other, I believe."
"I can think of no better way to pass time than with the lead researcher of magical technologies, master Chemosh," Teovan answered with a bow that seemed to irritate the other man, "Your work is in high favor with our masters, and our disciplines undoubtedly overlap."
The two fell immediately into murmuring postulations while the second newcomer took a seat next to the first with little more than a nod to the rest, a long black braid of hair sliding over his shoulder. The pale gray of his Delvdrin elf skin made his features dull in the gloom.
"Tarpeia, I'd somehow forgotten you were to return this day, so long you were gone. Though I suppose the ritual would be impossible without the completed Grasp."
"She was just THRILLING us with tales of her time among the animals of Ragnaheim, Kedeshah," announced Baliarth with a frown at Chemosh and Teovan, "Well, she was telling ME, at least."
"Truly? Please, do continue, I have little of interest to share from the streets, just the ceaseless drama of poverty and desperation, so easy to work in our favor."
The Delvdrin spoke in a roughly quiet voice that marked the race of his desolate world. Every inch of his body from the top of his neck was wrapped in close fitting and silent clothing, only the fingers otherwise free.
"Well, from one thing, the Ragnakind are not half the barbarians we have lead Ariasmen to believe," Tarpeia answered as she propped herself to be better admired, "their society is built upon unity, to a near pathological degree, and all the more benefit to our designs. They have grand dwarven machines and fascinatingly well balanced industrial markets. A RIDICULOUS number of holidays and special occasions to remember, it was a nightmare to keep up with each and accommodate them as a wife of a leading public official."
"A pity you couldn't better enjoy your vacation, I hear the land is a wild wonder to behold."
"Yes, it is a fascinatingly dangerous place beyond civilizing, for all the broad wilds between settled areas and the incredible beasts therein; they prefer it that way, say it's a matter of balance and cite scripture. I posed as a sweet damsel in need of care, and keeping up THAT act was nearly the worst of it. Or maybe how disgustingly pleasant and honor-obsessed the people all are. They CARE so deeply for one another, all of them!"
"What WAS the worst part, then, come now, out with it!" insisted Baliarth with a sick twinkle in his eye as he laughed, his perverse delight a thrill to her.
"Beyond a doubt it was acting as a mother. It was my most demanding role, and I ought to be awarded for my maternal performance despite how much I truly despised each day of it. I wanted nothing more than to throw that needy brat from the tallest towers. Pregnancy was enthralling at least. Such exquisite pains and change to master, and - Chemosh, pay attention, this was thanks to our correspondence - I engaged in many experiments manipulating the fetus and its features to match the face I wore. I'll admit, in my near constant boredom I decided that perhaps my progeny could be altered to be superior to its peers in terms of physical and mental talents."
"What were your successes?" Chemosh ask with unusually curious interest, so rare in fact that Tarpeia was pleased to disappoint him.
"Inconclusive," she shrugged noncommittal, "Certainly, the child performed admirably in learning and development with its nannies, but I abhorred even being near the thing long. Perhaps I'll investigate in the future, though unlikely. If you wish to learn more, I have no qualms about your methods."
"Pity. I just may, a successful manipulation of the most essential foundations of form and function would be significantly beneficial to my endeavors. Though fresh samples may be preferable, if you'll instruct me further of course."
The discourse paused as four men appeared at once in a roar of flame, the large conflagration drawing all eyes. A broad bald man, tall and solid, lead them in stiff military garb and mail, the same cloak as the rest wore slung over his shoulder. He beckoned the three to follow and donned the garment. The others, however, shuddered in place, one of the lesser two vomiting bile on his sleeve while struggling to maintain his hold on a chest between them.
"Dark damnation, what in all the hells was THAT place?" shouted a regally dressed fellow in strangely layered clothing, all twisted fabrics and stitched patterns flowing, a man to whom the others seemed to attend. The bald man paused and turned back in annoyance, fists flexing open and shut.
"One of the hells," he candidly quipped, "Now, you highness, please join us. The emperor will attend soon."
The military man took a place next to Baliarth and mentioned to the south end of the table across from the throne. The regal royal frowned at the place opposite him as he settled down with his escorts, whom placed the chest on the ground behind him, all three deliciously disturbed by the traveling ordeal. Tarpeia straightened and stared hungrily.
"Then... does this mean... master Leucetious, surely..."
"My dear Nuri Orhan, you-" Tarpeia started to teasingly interject.
"KING!" He shrieked before paling to a greenish hue. Tarpeia laughed wickedly, a fresh sneer on her lips.
"King no more, I daresay," she estimated cruelly.
"What marriage with devilry do you entertain?!" he demanded weakly, "That was no simple portal pass, we were THERE! Do we work in cahoots with- with-"
"Necromancers, darling," Tarpeia yawned over her wine, "and unless you are under the gravely mistaken illusion that dragon slaying, the murder of the child of Fascinius, is anything less than the most damnable offense, you best come quick to terms with the idea that service to the Sovereign is the only survivable path ahead."
The rest laughed nastily while the foreigners exchanged terroried looks. The displaced king opened his mouth as if to speak, a desperate glint in his eye, but only managed a small sound of distress.
"KING Orhan, welcome to my domain once more," a cold commanding voice called from the study above, a softly stern sound that gave Tarpeia chills, "I find your distress confounding. Surely you've been boldly in the service to those abyssal bound for decades untold. Slavery of all sorts, espionage, conquest, manufacture and distribution of addictive and destructive substances, and a steady flow of blood money from all manner of deplorable work... did you think your rotten souls could somehow escape torment and destruction beyond obedience to those you emulate without praise?"
"I-I... the Sovereign of Sin..." Orhan sputtered, his men grim-faced. Their leader frowned, swallowed hard, and set his jaw to try again.
"Come now, Nuri," urged Tarpeia, silenced with a look from Eden after.
"It is as you say, no matter how I could hope to deny it," he bemoaned slowly, "but we have lost all in service to-"
"By your own incompetence," interrupted Chemosh with a look that matched his quiet condescension, "you were paid as agreed and provided the manpower with the magical skill necessary to harvest the stones - necromancy. No burden for your failure is our own."
"Chemosh," hushed Eden with a raised hand as he settled on his throne, face impassive and eyes hard, "we should let our ally speak his peace. After all, the Meleagrins did perform admirably. Do continue, friend."
Orhan worked visibly to contain a shudder at the terms 'ally' and 'friend' spoken so coldly that no comfort could be found in them. Orhan stood, firm but trembling, either from anger or fear, a joy for Tarpeia to watch play out.
"We've lost all, our lands, the vast majority of our people... we have seventeen ships only, with little more than five thousand escapees crowded, waiting in your waters. We are at your mercy, how can we best serve to earn sanctuary? I beseech you, command and we shall obey."
Teeth grit hard as he shuddered to the side of his seat and dropped to his knee, head bowed. Shocked, his men leapt scrambling to mimic him after a heartbeat.
"First you may sit, and after you will swear. There are other matters the supersede you, so I expect your silence in the meantime. Teovan, your progress report."
Orhan and his attendants rose cautiously to their chairs to listen, silent and meek, and Tarpeia delighted in their thunderstruck expressions.
"The gathering of darkness in the wastelands has progressed tremendously well, and the hordes answer my call without fail. I have even gained a vampire brood with a rather formidable if not troublesomely reluctant primus. Unfortunately, the congregation has attracted the attention and rage of Pythios sooner than desired and so he disrupts and diminishes what we gain. A pity you cannot command your ward from so very far."
"Pythios the Bejeweled?" gasped Tarpeia, elated, "Ancient blood dragon, cannibal monstrosity, our inspiration for-"
"You will observe decorum at this table, lady," Eden commanded with a glacial tone, "I fear you have too long immersed yourself with brutes. Do not forget yourself again."
A freezing panic filled her chest and Tarpeia bowed her head, humiliated.
"Please, I beg you forgive my impertinence, it will not happen again."
"Please continue, Teovan."
"There is little else worth mentioning, save perhaps the continued difficulty the Righteous Fang in the temple of Rhenendon poses. It disrupts my connection with the creatures near it as they frenzy or flee, infecting others with the disruption. Because we cannot approach it nor send our foul minions to pass within its sacred grounds, it will simply remain an inconvenience to endure."
"A solution to that issue is... in development. And the means to command Pythios shall be yours momentarily. Chemosh, your report."
The researcher splayed his notes and stood, his level voice a drone that would have otherwise bored the shame consumed woman across from him.
"The stones are, quite simply, the most remarkably complex magical artifacts I have ever examined. They resemble Gaiastone in that they seem to be magic manifested as a form of living stone, but the depths of their power and potential use is still far beyond what can be presently measured. There are promising experiments that are being undertaken as we speak, and each yield more insight. I am certain we can achieve a complete combination and fulfill master Rothacal's prophecy as decreed upon Deorcine."
"Your reliability in these matters is unmatched, your success is certain to me."
With the slightest of inclination of his head the ruler acknowledged Chemosh, and even that pale semblance of a nod lit jealous flames of rage burning opposite his seat. Eden twisted his hand with an upward motion and the chest brought by the Meleagrins flew from behind them and set itself on the table, lid flung open. Revealed were four oval stones of smooth angles and sharp protrustions, each spiderwebbed with oily black and pulsing with different hued brilliance.
"And these are the last of them?" Eden ask Orhan, who jerked alert, still pale from seeing the emperor wield such ability.
"Yes, that is the last, along with what was delivered before. I'm sure I have no interest in their purpose, if your troubling comments are to be understood..."
"Enough. I believe the endeavors of the rest of you are well known to me and can be further investigated later. It is time for Teovan to ascend and for our guests to fully join us. Come now, Orhan, swear fealty."
Eden rose as though floating to his feet, his robes billowed in an apparent glide as he smoothly approached the columned pit. Tarpeia rose with the others, giddiness replacing her shame, a mischievous smile bared at Orhan as he turned about, confused.
"So we shall be welcomed as citizens of Ariasholm? And our people?"
"I did not say you would swear to me. Do not dawdle."
Eden took his place at the northernmost plate of the six and the others followed to their own obsidian plaques. Kedeshah stood to his right, a sullen contrast to the Celestian emperor, while Leucetious on his left seemed a savage mass of might near the lithe elves. Tarpeia beamed with fervor across the glyphs from her emperor with Chemosh dispassionate on her right and Baliarth haughty in all his Celestian pretension at her left watching the trailing visitors as they moved to stand hesitantly outside the circle near a half-wall between the pillars. Teovan posed stoic past Eden's right shoulder, eyes bright with anticipation.
The necromancers began a chant, two at a time, a discordant harmony that echoed supernaturally at a length and volume the chamber could not produce. Eden and Tarpeia lead, followed by Chemosh and Kedeshah, and then Baliarth and Leucetious.
"Our master of malice, Rise
~~~~~With gaze from eyes Cruel
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Harsh rule King
Rise from the nightmare depths And
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~To faithful hand Say
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~We pray Your
Anoint us with your dark Word
~~~~~~~Your command heard, Vowed
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Word vowed Law!"
Vibrations thrummed through the chamber and rocked through Tarpeia as they spoke with repetition, each wave of force greater than the last as a smoky haze filled the center of the ring. A glistening veil materialized at the circle's edge, floor to ceiling, passing through and linking the six. Flame and static snaps leapt from the lines on the floor and met in midair with emissions from their replica on the ceiling. A roaring blaze grew as the chanting continued on, the words echoing from her throat on their own accord until at last a boom of pressure flooded the space and a murky form took shape, a bone winged monster with clawed hands, body glowing with runes. It spoke, and its voice came from pitched screams and shrieks of the distant damned within its realm, a horrible yet faded roar of tortured souls that curdled the cruel mistress's own, a terror stricken sensation she sweetly savored.
"I am before you, last children of ruin. Foul, fortunate few, baleful babes, you shall implement the End."
The creature rotated within the roaring field, lightning crackling. Gusts of wind tore through the greater chamber. Claws beckoned beyond Eden, a summons to Teovan that had the man leaping to obey.
"Chosen, enter and receive my touch, my curse. Enter and accept the power to execute my will.
He immediately obeyed and collided with and broke through pulsing veil, the wispy substance clinging as he did, and was seized into the air and held aloft by nothing, burning in an emerald flame and biting arches of light without a word or cry.
"The demonic bond shall make us one. Rejoice, children, your brother precedes you but soon true glory shall be yours to cherish!"
The avatar of Cruelty rose and wrapped itself around Teovan in a crush, arms tight around him, bodies pressed. Flashing fangs bit deep into the acolytes's neck and shoulder as he wailed at last, a sound somewhere between agony and ecstasy. Claws ripped into his back and ribs, the flames filling the summoning space as Teovan's body mangled before Tarpeia's envious eyes. The avatar began to melt and meld to the broken flesh, the wispy mass of darkness forcing into and reshaping the man anew as the gust increased outside in both frequency and intensity, the horrified Meleagrins battered and cowering.
Bone spurs sprouted from his back to twist and crack, splitting and reforming until they became a semblance of Rothacal's own, empty of flesh and coal black like the fangs that then filled his mouth. Regenerated skin dulled to ash gray, whole only moments before bleeding runes burned themselves in multitudes over his body. The demon convulsed, eyes wild, then shuddered with a deep breath. The tumult eased to its previous intensity as the demon relaxed and adopted a commanding pose while behind him reformed the avatar of Rothacal. They spoke as one.
"A fresh hold on this droll plane," they said derisively, "The power to Speak may have been stolen from the Seven, but never can we be hidden from mortal hearts all too willing to speak in our stead."
The avatar and demon shivered as one and examined each other, Teovan submissive before the greater being, head bowed in subservience.
"You will be free of my direct command on my departure," Rothacal warned the ruined man, "But you shall know my will and wield a taste of my power always. You have the strength you need to tame that troubling beast. Go now and tend to my army!"
Teovan gave a curt bow and leapt wordlessly from the circle and clear across the room to a portal and was gone in moments. Rothacal then set his black gaze shrouded in hellfire on the throneless king.
"Nuri Orhan, my faithless child. Why cower so? What delicious malice your people have produced, I have reveled in so few places in these worlds as I have in your endeavors, so sweetly have I tasted suffering wrought by Meleagrin hearts and hands. Long have you served me, child, and now you will swear to your sin. Kneel."
The three outsiders slammed to their knees by an unseen force that dragged them tearing cloth and flesh across the stone to press against the veil as they howled in terror.
"Swear your souls to me and obey! The end doth come and shall be bourn of your fruitful labors! My Word spoken upon Deorcine, its ruin, the last I've spoken in millennia, a curse at last to be fulfilled! You will suffer all agonies in endless anguish or serve me now!"
Tarpeia and the six, wholly enthralled by their Sovereign's boundless lust for cruelty, watched with pleasure as the three trembled, tears streaming as the nightmare thundered at them. Heat burned through where they touched to scorch the wild eyed and overwhelmed men, locked in the grip of primal fear. Their clothes burned to charred rags and left naked torsos to face the elemental force.
"Swear to our Malevolent King!" Eden and his Grasp cried as one, objects of an invasive will, "Cast your lot or fall to doom!"
"I swear to serve!" desperately screamed Nuri Orhan, twisted with pain.
"I swear to serve!" the other two repeated in unison. The trio shot upright onto tiptoes, board stiff as lines of searing light burned Rothacal's sigil into their chest, a three point solid star surrounded by a jagged circle. A crook shape appeared on the under side and two empty dead eye circles flanked either side of top point. The burns blackened to sizzling wounds, surely an agony, but the three acknowledged nothing, frozen as if dead.
"You are beholden to me always. By my comand, you will obey the Last Emperor. His will is my own."
"As you command, my Sovereign," the answered in unison, eyes rolled back.
"Now, Child Eden-"
A discordance crashed into the chamber then, an overwhelming force of holy might that unbalanced the Grasp. The avatar diminished, wavering, and disintegrated in howling screams of rage and reformed roaring.
"Cursed Guardians, foul Fascinius! Child Eden! Build with Orhan the forces of the first move of this last stage of the game. Place him as general-"
Again the foul thing faltered and returned
"-take him, his people, as the vanguard. They have much to teach in how to put my stain upon that awful land, the favored anchorage of the Eleven! Use the wretches and bring war!"
A brilliant flash of pure white light chased away the smoke and fire. Wild winds ceased, and in Rothacal's place was a draconic figure so brilliantly lit that Tarpeia and the others shied from its gaze, save for Eden, who boldly matched the thing.
"Necromancers," it scolded, an ancient and powerful voice that rumbled deep with disgust, "your den in cleverly hidden, faces veiled to my eye. No matter, we see you now. It will not be long until-"
"Enough!" shouted Eden as he and the others broke from the circle. The magic was severed and the veil collapsed, portal shut to banish the Guardian. The men of Meleagris dropped hard to the ground, moaning wretchedly. Tarpeia flexed and stretched, her gown and cloak torn and burned over wounds that we a bit reluctant to heal, and she was elated with excitement and pain. It was unfortunate to see not all her peers shared her joys, many more than a bit perturb by the course of events. Eden, unaffected in any way, left the pit and strolled to his throne.
"Come, Orhan," he casually called, "The coming years give us much to discuss."